Truth About Men & Dogs

by Andrea Simonne

  At least she’d been saddled with Ethan's last name. It was the only silver lining I could find in this whole ugly mess. Her last name used to be Sullivan, but not anymore.

  Ivy Spivy.

  I wanted to giggle with malicious pleasure every time I heard it.

  “Oh, and when your maid comes by my house tomorrow, will you please tell her to clean each of the bathroom sinks?” Ivy was admiring herself in the small mirror by the front door, smoothing down imaginary frizz in her silky straight hair. “I think she forgets every time.”

  I took a deep breath. “Of course.”

  “You really should train your employees better.”

  I gripped the kitchen counter.

  Ivy reached out and yanked one of the many sticky notes I had stuck all over my house off the wall. “What are these ridiculous things?” She read it aloud. “‘The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.’ Eleanor Roosevelt.” She looked up at me. “What is this?”

  “It’s a motivational quote. They inspire me.”

  Ivy made a face. “Seems kind of pathetic.”

  It figured she wouldn’t understand. Starting a new business was a lot of work, and it helped to remind myself that I was working toward something.

  “And I’d appreciate it if in the future, you didn’t let strangers drive my dogs around,” she said. “You don’t even know those people.”

  “In the future, you should find somebody else to watch your dogs when you go on vacation. I don’t want to have to be the one who walks them every time.” Violet barely tolerated those dogs, and Daphne was even worse at managing them than I was.

  “Why are you acting like this?”

  “Because I did you a favor, and you’re complaining.”

  Ivy sighed. Her expression changed to one of pity, the one she wore when she thought I was hanging on to the past.

  “Come on, Claire.” Her voice softened into that sugary tone I disliked. She only used it when she wanted something. “We’re sisters, remember? Family.”

  I went quiet.

  She sure knew my weakness. My soft underbelly. I was an orphan, and Violet, Ivy, and Daphne were all I had. So I listened to them when they told me that all families had their problems. “Let’s put it in the past,” Violet had said to me. “It’s what your dad would have wanted. He always wanted you girls to be like real sisters.”

  Ivy was still standing there giving me her pity look.

  My breath shuddered. I don’t want him! I felt like screaming at her. Ethan was a cheater and not worth my time, but she didn’t believe me. She always acted like I hadn’t been enough woman to keep him, like I was harboring some deep jealousy of her for stealing him—which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I limped over to get a glass down from the cabinet. “Those people aren’t strangers anymore. They were being kind.” I turned on the tap. “It’s not like I was out there hitchhiking.”

  The dogs started to yip and scratch at the door, trying to get outside.

  “Whatever,” she said. “I’m going up to the house to see my mom.”

  And with that she left. Thank goodness.

  I drank some water, then opened the fridge and took out a container of fruit. After covering the mirror by the front door again so my birds wouldn’t fly into it, I went over to my own little babies—my parakeets, Quicksilver and Calico Jack.

  “Hi, sweeties,” I said, opening their cage.

  Calico Jack immediately hopped onto my hand. “Kiss, kiss,” he squawked at me.

  Quicksilver came out next but flew over to my bookcase. He wasn’t as affectionate and tended to be a troublemaker.

  “Look what I have for you two.” I opened the container. Quicksilver flew over when he noticed the fruit.

  I fed them by hand for a bit, gently petting and cooing to them. Both birds were rescue animals I’d adopted from the shelter in town.

  When they were done snacking, they flew up to the rope I’d strung across the room. I put the fruit away, figuring I’d take a shower next. My keys were still in my pocket, so I pulled them out along with my phone, except there was a problem.

  My keys were there, but no phone.

  “What the heck?”

  I frantically searched my hoodie pockets, then my sweatpants. Did it fall out? How could that have happened? I began to panic. That phone was my life. Losing it would be a nightmare.

  I retraced my steps and thought back to the car ride and then to the way Philip had carried me up the beach with such gallantry.

  And that was when I knew the truth.

  He wasn’t being gallant at all.

  “That asshole stole my phone!”

  Chapter Four

  ~ Philip ~

  Unbelievable.

  A full hour and it wasn’t happening. I tried every key combination possible.

  The simplest way in should have been to bypass the voice assist, a security loophole most people didn’t know they should close, but apparently the maid wasn’t most people. There used to be a way to bypass the emergency dialer using a set of keystrokes and the home button. It was tricky. The timing had to be just right, and it only gave you access to the phone’s regular dialer, but that was all I needed.

  Except that didn’t work either.

  I stared at the phone in frustration.

  Fuck.

  The metal backing grew warm in my hand as I pondered my next move. I was sitting in my bedroom. I’d told my mom and the pest I was taking a nap. The girly rhinestone-studded case sat beside me on the pillow. The maid’s favorite color must have been turquoise, as I’d noticed her car was the same vibrant shade.

  Picking up the case, I slipped the phone back inside. My original plan was to hack the dialer and then call for transportation out of here. Afterward, I’d drive over to the maid’s house and return it, making up a story about how it had fallen between the seats of the car.

  Okay, not my finest hour. I admit it.

  Unfortunately, now I’d have to return the phone with nothing to show for my efforts.

  I got up from the bed and slipped the phone into my front pocket, using my T-shirt to hide the bulge before leaving the room. Once out in the hall, I heard voices coming from downstairs.

  “How was your nap?” my mom asked when I entered the house’s comfortably decorated living room. The furnishings were mostly blue and white with a coffee table made from a large chunk of driftwood. “Look who dropped by for a visit.”

  It was my cousin Doug, which explained the male voice I’d heard. I walked over. “Hey, Dougster, how you doing?”

  He stood up, and we gave each other a quick hug.

  Doug was a year older than me and had a skinny doe-eyed look about him that reminded me of a young Jackson Browne. He looked the same as he did when I saw him last year in Seattle. We lived near each other as kids and basically grew up together.

  He sat back down again. “Oh, I’m okay, I guess.”

  Taking the chair next to him, I noticed he was drinking one of the dog-piss wine coolers. I wanted to ask what he thought of it but didn’t get a chance because he started telling me about his pollen allergies. A subject he’d apparently been talking about for some time.

  I smiled politely, glancing around. My mom and Eliza were also smiling politely. Doug wasn’t smiling because he was too busy boring everyone to death.

  “And the allergy medication makes me sleepy,” Doug went on in his sad-sack voice. “I’ll start sneezing and my eyes will water. Sometimes my nose gets clogged. A clogged nose is no picnic, I can tell you that.” He gave a dry huffing laugh.

  He was pitiful. So pitiful none of us had the heart to shut him up. Not even me.

  My sister, whose intolerance for boredom was legendary, shifted position. She had something hidden low next to the couch. She kept glancing down, and I realized she was texting on her phone. Sneaky brat.

  Not that I could blame her.

  “Of course.” My mom nodded with s
ympathy at my cousin’s continuing nasal saga. She turned to me. “Would you like a muffin? Doug made them.”

  I glanced at the basket on the table. “No thanks. I’m good.”

  My mom’s eyes widened, and I could sense the instant hurt emanating from Doug.

  “I mean sure.” I leaned forward to grab a muffin. “I’ll have one. Definitely.”

  “They’re oatmeal flax seed,” he said, then gave a brief chuckle. “I call them my kick-starter muffins since they keep you regular—if you know what I mean.”

  I took a large bite of muffin and forced myself to chew. It was bland and tasteless with a texture not unlike wet cat litter.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Great.” I choked down the first mushy bite. “Delicious.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see the pest trying not to laugh.

  “Baking is something that helps take my mind off my troubles.” He stared at me with his usual hangdog expression. “Hey!” He brightened. “Maybe I should sell my muffins. What do you think, Philip? You’re the business expert.”

  I didn’t say anything. I got this a lot. People trying to pitch me their lame ideas. I usually shut them down quickly—brutally when necessary. In Doug’s case, however, I only gave a noncommittal grunt, not wanting to be unkind.

  “I haven’t been getting much work lately,” he lamented. “I guess people just don’t want to hire me anymore.”

  He seemed about to continue with his new subject, and I leaned forward, eager to take part and offer suggestions, but then Doug sighed wearily and shifted back to his allergies. I tried to ask him more about why business was slow, but he couldn’t be deterred.

  As I tuned him out, I wondered what had brought him to this sorry state of existence. He was my blood relative, after all. My dad’s sister’s son. Shouldn’t he have some of our drive? Some of the famous North ambition? I hated my father, but I couldn’t deny the sonofabitch was a go-getter.

  Part of the problem was his mom—my aunt Linda. She definitely had the North ambition, except her main one seemed to be manipulating and controlling her only child. At least he had the sense to move away from her, even if it was to this backwater town.

  My cousin began to tell us intricate details about the sinus X-rays he had done recently.

  I was on the verge of asking my mom to kill me with the fireplace poker, but then the front doorbell rang. Anything, I thought. Anything had to be better than listening to my cousin monologue about the snot in his sinus cavities all evening. I tried to get up and answer it, but the pest was faster.

  “I’ll get it!” She leaped off the couch like the winning contestant from a game show. “Nobody move!”

  “I wonder who that could be.” My mom leaned back, trying to see the front door.

  A moment later, my sister came into the living room escorting an attractive young woman.

  Doug obviously knew who she was, because he jerked up from the couch, banging his knee against the driftwood table. “Claire! What are you doing here?”

  Claire? Why did I know that name? I studied the young woman who, for some reason, was staring at me with a pissed-off expression.

  My mom and Eliza also seemed to know her and were talking animatedly as I continued to try and place her. Was she a friend of my sister’s?

  “Did you change your mind about dinner?” Eliza asked eagerly. “I hope so.”

  “No, I seem to have lost my phone.” Despite being angry, the woman’s voice was clear and pretty. Then it hit me.

  It was the maid. The one who I’d thought was plain. The one whose stolen phone was currently in my front pocket.

  Shit.

  “Nice to see you again, Claire.” I nodded smoothly, trying to decide how to handle this.

  She didn’t reply, just continued with her murderous gaze, which I was starting to enjoy. Outside of family, most people were too intimidated by me to give me such a relentless glare.

  She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something.

  “How’s your ankle?” I inquired. “I hope it’s better.”

  Her mouth closed abruptly. She glanced around at the others, obviously frustrated. “It’s fine,” she muttered.

  “Have a seat.” My mom got up and encouraged her to come over to the couch. “You should stay off that foot.”

  Claire limped over and sat down next to Doug, who had transformed into a nervous twitching rabbit.

  “Are you… did you…” He swallowed. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  She turned to him and explained about twisting her ankle earlier today.

  “Gosh, jeez. I’m really sorry to hear that.” He gulped, wringing his hands and nodding vigorously.

  I’d never seen my cousin so animated. He seemed at war with himself about how to behave and kept sneaking furtive glances at her.

  As a result, I decided to look at her myself.

  Long curly blonde hair. Short curvy body. She was wearing fitted jeans with a peach T-shirt that covered what I could tell were spectacular breasts—and trust me, I was an expert. It was no surprise I hadn’t recognized her, because she looked completely different.

  Claire smiled at something my mom said, and I shook my head in amazement. Damn, she wasn’t plain at all. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten it so wrong.

  Not that she was my type. Body wise, okay, she had me there, but despite all her glaring, I could tell she was too sweet for me. A few too many hearts and rainbows with a unicorn thrown in for good measure.

  Not my thing.

  I turned my attention back to Doug, because it clearly was his thing. He was still twitching all over.

  “Would you like a… uh… muffin?” he asked Claire, his face red. “I made them myself.” He fumbled for the basket, nearly dropping it in her lap.

  “I didn’t know you baked.” She took one out along with a napkin.

  Doug nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, I do. In fact, Philip told me he thought they were delicious.”

  At the mention of my name, her eyes narrowed, and she shot me another skewering look.

  I wanted to grin with delight, but instead I kept my expression neutral. She may have her suspicions, but she had no proof I had anything to do with her missing phone.

  “He thinks I should start selling them to people,” Doug continued with enthusiasm. “That we should go into business together, that my muffins would be a sure thing!”

  I raised an eyebrow. He got all that from my indifferent grunt? I didn’t contradict him though. I could tell he was only trying to impress her, and I suspected when it came to women, Doug needed all the help he could get.

  Claire took her first bite of muffin, and her eyes widened as she slowly chewed.

  The pest jumped up. “Let me get you something to help wash that down. Is a wine cooler okay?”

  Claire, who was still chewing, nodded eagerly.

  Meanwhile, Doug watched her like a puppy awaiting its master’s approval.

  The maid wore an uncomfortable smile, still trying to choke down the first bite. When Eliza appeared with the dog-piss wine cooler, Claire grabbed it from her. I watched the way her mouth pressed against the rounded edge. The way her hand gripped the long bottleneck.

  My mind went straight into the gutter.

  I couldn’t help it.

  My gaze slid down her body. As always, my imagination didn’t fail me, and I easily pictured her without that peach T-shirt, then without any clothes at all.

  Wait, let’s go back to that white string bikini from earlier.

  Excellent.

  She put the bottle down and licked her lips. They were pink and pretty, and I enjoyed the sight of them. I glanced over at Doug, who obviously enjoyed the sight as well.

  “What do you think?” he asked, staring at her with eager adoration. “Is that the best muffin you’ve ever eaten?”

  “It’s….” She seemed to be searching for the right word.

  “Delicious?” he offered.
r />   “Yes.” She smiled. “Delicious.”

  Doug beamed at her.

  “What do you think of the beverage?” I asked, curious. Maybe I was the only one who thought they tasted like dog piss.

  She looked down at the bottle in her hand and licked her lips some more. “It tastes like a pencil eraser.”

  I chuckled.

  “I thought they were strange too,” my mom said in agreement. “Where did these come from?”

  I explained how Gavin sent them over, that the manufacturer was looking for investors. “They’re supposed to be somewhat healthy. A healthy alcoholic beverage.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t give them any money,” my mom said. “Not unless they fix the taste.”

  “Me either,” Claire agreed.

  “Is everything okay?” Doug asked, turning to her. “You said your phone was missing.”

  She nodded. “I was hoping I could look around outside. I must have lost it when I was here earlier checking on things.” Her eyes narrowed on mine.

  “Sure,” I said. “Maybe it fell out of your pocket when I carried you.”

  “It might be on the beach,” the pest offered. “Or maybe in the car. We’ll help you look.”

  “We’ll find it,” Doug said quickly. “Don’t you worry, Claire!”

  Everybody got up and headed to the front door to go search outside for the missing phone that was now burning a hole in my front pocket. I was still trying to decide how to handle this.

  “I know, let’s call your number,” my sister said, snapping her fingers. “That way we can hear it ringing.”

  I froze midstep.

  “Great idea.” Doug’s head bobbed with enthusiasm.

  My sister had her phone out in a flash and was asking Claire for her telephone number.

  My pulse ratcheted up. “I’ll join you guys in a minute,” I said, trying to sound casual as I pointed over my shoulder at the bathroom.

  Once inside, I yanked the door shut and pulled the phone out of my pocket just as it started buzzing like a motherfucker.

  This was unbelievable.